The only good spy is a dead one
by Darke Eco Freak
Summary: People say things over and over again because they're true, mostly, so why should this be any different?


DEF: And he thrilling conclusion to my cannon compliant JakxTorn nonsense. Follows after It's only as complicated, and here Torn is the spy of which Errol spoke while you're sneaking around on top of the palace.

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><p>"Spy huh? That's what you've been all this time? A spy for the Baron?" he growled, fists so tight his claws were slicing into his palms, the warm blood wasn't helping the situation. Daxter knew better than to mouth off here, not that he'd attack him or anything but this was all Jak's jurisdiction, Torn was always Jak's jurisdiction.<p>

"It's not like that, he would've killed Ashelin!" the red haired commander of the entire Underground movement argued, and that was what really got under his skin_**. The Commander of the entire Underground movement**_, just the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth and hatred racing through his veins. The crackle of lightening wasn't missed by anyone in the room but he had enough control, barely any but enough, to not resort to that, yet.

"Is that why we never assaulted the Baron directly? Because you got too good at your pretend job that you actually became a problem, a _threat_?" he snarled and he can smell the fear, stale, metallic, tangible. Torn's afraid, who wouldn't be facing down the demon of Haven? But he's not afraid the way the guards are, he's not afraid the way the Baron is, Torn isn't afraid of the monster, he's afraid of the man because he knows exactly what the man can do. Always was a smart bastard.

"An old friend in the guard? We always just assumed it was Ashelin, you made us believe it was Ashelin, but it wasn't, was it? It was Errol, your old commander," he muttered, vivid flashbacks of being strapped down to the chair, of being experimented on for hours. Experiments that were pure torture, hours that dragged on for eternities and Errol circling like a vulture, picking at the slimmest of scraps. Then more recently, hasty, aggressive kisses, bitten raw lips, bruises on hips in the shape of fingers, angry red lines on backs and chests and stomachs. He can't believe he was that stupid, sleeping with a traitor when he should've been strangling him.

"You fuckin betrayed us! Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you now and throw you out on the streets to rot," he demanded, vision blacking out for the split second his tentative control slipped. There was blood on his hands, blood in the air, and betrayal churning in his gut, even the animalistic side of him couldn't understand why Torn had done it. How he could turn his back on these people that trusted him, that relied on him as their de-facto Leader because Precursor's knew Samos was anything but, alternate version or not.

"Because I saved all of our hides, do you really think the Baron would've let the Underground live if he didn't think he had some control over it? He would've wiped us all out," the man explained, letting his gaze drop down to his hands. There was a rational part of his brain that argued in favour of that logic, even Jak knew that the Underground was too good to be true in a city that bowed to the Baron's every whim, but that part is easy to ignore. There's a monster in his head roaring for blood, Torn's blood, he's tasted it before and now he wants it all, to show any others that dare come close, what results of betrayal.

"And you volunteered to play the part of triple agent out of the goodness of your heart," he sneered, there's a throbbing in his temples, a pounding that always precedes ebony horns bursting out of his head in a spray of blood and bone. He knows Dax can feel it, the frustrated energy begging to be let out, feel the racing of his heartbeat, and he curled tighter around his neck, blunt claws against his shoulder, soft fur a constant reminder. He wanted to do it, the electricity in his blood, sparking along his nerves, but as much as he hated that little rational part of him, he knew that it was important. Torn could still be useful to them and Jak could always kill him later, when he has more time because a quick death is never fair to either party. And that's the lie he sells himself because love has no place in war.

"I know how we can get our friends back, maybe the stone too. They're in the fortress and Vin can get you in," Torn promised, pulling out a communicator and tossing it over, he only barely catches the thing and it's already stained with blood from his hand. Communicators don't have a very long shelf life with him and Dax, probably something to do with them never being on shelves and not made to be crushed under a hundred plus pounds of muscle.

"And why should we trust you? After all, this could be another little plot of the Baron's to take me out," he suggests mildly, not like he couldn't take the fucker a third time. He's strong, ruthless, even back in prison especially back in prison, that's the only reason Praxis wants him dead, not because he's a symbol of all the failures the man's ever had, not because he's proof of just how sick and twisted this city is, but because the Baron is afraid of Jak. He wouldn't put it past Errol to set something up with Torn, get the commander back on Jak's good side then double cross him a second time.

"Because we both know the Baron would've done it without a second thought," and he can't even argue the logic of that statement because it's a hundred percent true and isn't that just the saddest, most fucked up thing ever? Daxter curled just the slightest bit tighter around him, face in the crook of his neck staring at Torn, he felt the faint brush of fur as Dax twitched his ears before he sat up. That's the only permission he needed, if Dax is on board then it's worth a shot, anything is really, and they turn to leave.

"Jak!" Torn sounded panicked, almost worried, and when he looked over his shoulder he could almost believe the man didn't mean to call out. There are some things that should stay in your head and they're the ones that escape the easiest.

"It'll be a tough ride through the fortress, probably suicide," the Underground commander added, expression curiously blank and he knows what that means, oh does he know. He's seen it so many times after all, angry is Torn's default setting, fed-up is his go to whenever Jak and Dax walk in but expressionless is special. Expressionless is reserved for when he gets sent on a mission that should probably kill him, when he comes back from doing something so death defying the Grim Reaper's thrown down his scythe in frustration. Expressionless means 'I'm so fucking worried about you, please come back in one piece' and Torn will never know exactly how close he came to death in that one second.

It was one thing to betray the Underground, one thing to betray _**him**_, because as much as he might hate it and want to disembowel the man, it's understandable. This is Haven City where's it's every man, woman and child for themselves, betrayal is something that happens, even in the Underground by the one man that should be above it. He can understand betrayal but when you betray someone then turn around and claim to still care, you were just asking to meet the Precursors.

The taste of blood was bitter, so bitter, there's too much corruption in it to be anything else and his mouth hurts from the slowly lengthening canines. He wants so badly to leap over the table and tear out that son of a bitch's throat, to let the sweet, copper taste override the bitterness but no, he has more control that that, barely, and a mission. His friends deserve that at least, deserve to be free before he comes back here and murders the fucker.

"Just get that door open, I'll be there," he grunts, words sounding guttural as he speaks around a mouthful of too sharp teeth. He turns to leave again and this time there are no calls, no warnings, but he can feel the eyes burning into his back. He ignores it, he has a mission to do.


End file.
